Here Beside Me
by tiffster
Summary: Kristana and Jack quickly become best friends, but their deep and abiding friendship is put to the test when they journey on the Titanic and meet Rose.
1. Singing in the Snow

**Here Beside Me**

**Note: **The italicized words at the beginning of each chapter are the lyrics to a song that are meant to correlate somewhat to the story.

**Chapter One: Singing in the Snow**

_I'll show you worlds you've never seen. The sun and moon and shadows._

***

I walked with purpose through the crowded London streets, the basket I carried bouncing against my side. I thought if I walked faster I wouldn't feel so unbearably cold, and it worked…a little. I was starving, my stomach grumbling as if to say, "feed me please!" I hoped that if I did well today I would make enough money to purchase some soup and bread. If not, it was off to the soup kitchen where long lines and not enough food to compensate them meant not always procuring a meal.

As I neared my spot I noticed little white flurries making their way to the ground. Snow. 'Great,' I thought bitterly. 'Now I'll be freezing and wet.'

I marked the date in my head. November 29th, 1910. I always liked to keep track of the year's first snowfall. I didn't really know why. I loved snow, although in London, the snow looked more gray than white half the time.

I had made it to my spot. Luckily there didn't seem to be any other performers out. 'Good. No competition.'

I placed my basket on the ground and cleared my throat. I hoped my numbing lips wouldn't affect my performance. Then, I sang.

I had decided on "O Holy Night". It was near enough to Christmas, and the first snowfall had put me in the holiday spirit. Tons of people bustled by, but none of them stopped. A few glanced my way but kept walking. Still, I sang on. All it took was for one person to stop and listen, and usually others would follow.

Finally, a man who appeared to be in his thirties stopped. He stood close to me, and as he listened to me sing, he stared at me with a creepy smirk on his face. It sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. I glanced at him with a fierce look in my eyes, hoping to wipe that sick grin off his face, but my harsh look only seemed to have amused him. He crept up closer to me and dropped a couple of coins in my basket.

'Move along now,' I thought.

Instead, he said in a low voice, "I'd like to have an O Holy Night with you. Although, I don't think it would be very holy."

I wanted to slap him. How dare he! Did he think I was some prostitute? I would never sell my body to someone for money. Not even when I was at my hungriest did I ever consider doing that.

I didn't slap him, however. That would have only inflamed the situation. Instead, I looked him straight in the eyes and started singing "Amazing Grace" even though I hadn't yet finished with the other song.

'There,' I thought smugly. 'Let's see him pervert that song.'

He smirked at me again then much to my relief walked off.

However unsettling as that man's presence had been, it turned out to be rather fortuitous because my change of song seemed to have drawn more people to me. I soon had a small crowd gathered around me, and my basket was collecting more coins. 'I might be able to buy a cup of hot apple cider as well!' I pondered with pleasure.

I sang several more Christmas songs and even a Russian folk song that my mom used to sing to me when I was little.

When the moon had replaced the sun, I decided I was done for the day, and I clutched my basket to my stomach with pride. I would eat that night!

I started my walk toward the restaurant and decided to take a shortcut down an alley. It was dark and deserted, but I didn't scare easily, so I walked happily on as if I were prancing through a meadow on a sunny afternoon. I heard footsteps behind me and my meadow become a little less sunny. I quickly swerved my head around and saw a lanky, disheveled looking man right behind me. When I turned back around another shorter man was in front of me.

"'Hello, missy," he said in a voice that slithered like a snake.

I said nothing but turned back around only to find myself face to face with the other man. I knew I was trapped. They cornered me against the wall.

"That's a pretty basket ya got there," said the taller one. "You wouldn't mind if we took a peek inside, now would ya?"

The short one yanked the basket from my grip and looked at the coins inside with more greed than a lion stalking its prey.

I wondered if they would kill me, and I didn't even care so much about dying. I just feared I would die hungry.

I wasn't about to go down without a fight. I grabbed the basket almost causing the man to lose his grip. "Give it back," I demanded.

We played tug-of-war with it for a second before his friend slapped me straight across the face. I let go instantly, falling to the ground. My face was on fire with pain.

"You got alotta nerve," the short man said.

I had a lot more nerve than he thought. I kicked him hard in the shin, and he dropped the basket, yelping in pain. I reached for it but the tall man shoved me up against the wall and put a knife against my throat. I whimpered in fear.

"You're not gonna live long enough to regret that," he hissed.

I was really going to die. I couldn't believe it. I thought of my father and mother and how I would soon be with them.

Then, in the blink of an eye the man's face was slammed against the wall, causing him to drop the knife. A different man stood in front of me, and before I could discern his features, he quickly grabbed the dropped knife. The shorter fellow was recovering from his shin wound, and seeing what had happened to his friend, he made his way toward my unknown savior. My rescuer quickly throttled him with one punch. Both men weakly stood up looking dazed.

"Get out of here right now before I decide to kill you both," he said, his voice like steel.

They hobbled off without a word.

My rescuer stared after them, his features twisted in anger. He turned toward me, and they instantly softened. I looked down, still a little afraid.

"Are you all right?" he asked with concern.

I nodded meekly then lifted my head to look at him. "Thank you."

He blinked in surprise and seemed taken aback. I figured my face must have been marred from where I was hit, but instead he said, "Your eyes". His voice held such awe. It was the first time in my life someone had mentioned my eyes with admiration and not derision.

I had to admit they were somewhat unusual. They're green, bright green, like two emeralds glittering in the sunshine. That may sound more pretty than unusual, but it's not just the color that makes them odd, it's the shape. They are astonishingly cat-like. My mother used to say that my eyes must have come from another world, that they were hypnotic and more than a little unnerving. I loved my mother but her comments stung. I received no better attentions from my peers. They would say that my eyes could bewitch the devil himself, and I was soon dubbed "freaky green eyes". As if having cat eyes weren't strange enough, I had dark ebony hair to go with it. I literally looked like a black cat in human form. My father who tried and failed to be a little more kind than my mother had said that I was beautiful but so strange looking that no one would ever notice. As criticizing as my parents may have seemed, they praised me in practically everything else from my singing to my bravery to my intelligence. No one's parents are perfect and mine were no exception, but I would gladly have listened to them tease me if only to be with them again.

The man seemed to have recollected himself. "Are you okay to make it home?"

"Yes," I replied quickly.

"Let me walk you there."

"I suppose you can. Although…truthfully, I have no home."

My confession didn't seem to surprise him. "No home, then. So, where do you stay?"

"A poor house if there's any room available."

"What about your family?"

"I have none. I've been on my own since I was eight."

He stared at me. He seemed to be contemplating something. His gaze unnerved me a bit, but I stared right back, refusing to seem intimidated.

He spoke. "You're not gonna be on your own anymore."

"I don't understand."

"I live in a boarding house. There's a room available, and I'll pay to let you stay there."

I was confused by such unselfish kindness. "Why would you want to do that? You don't even know me, and no offense, but you seem barely able to afford to take care of yourself."

It was true. Now that my nerves had calmed down, I was able to get a better look at him. He was tall and lean but still muscular, and he had brown hair tinged with a sunny gold. His clothes, however, were obviously well-worn and cheap. He was poor just like me. However, I had to admit that in spite of his less than polished appearance, he was very handsome, a proverbial diamond in the ruff. He was probably the most attractive man I had ever laid eyes on. The thought my face grow warm, and I prayed I wasn't blushing.

His voice interrupted my thoughts. "I could afford it, and as for why I'm doing this, I have no idea. But I feel as though I would regret it forever if I didn't."

'What a strange yet fascinating man,' I thought.

Still, despite his appealing offer I felt too proud to accept it. "Thanks but no thanks. I can take care of myself."

He raised his eyebrows dubiously. "Yeah, you looked like you were taking care of yourself earlier."

I looked down embarrassed, but I could still feel his eyes on me. "What's your name," he queried.

"Kristana Volkoffsky."

"You're Russian."

I smiled at him sardonically for pointing out the obvious. "What gave me away?"

"The name, the accent, the pride."

I lifted my chin. "Better to be proud than ashamed."

"Better to be humble than complacent," he retorted.

His words had made me feel humbled. I dropped my chin. It seemed to me that this man was wise beyond his years, and in that moment I longed for him to share with me some of that wisdom. "I told you my name, but you have yet to tell me yours," I stated.

"Jack Dawson."

"Well, Jack Dawson, I think I'll take you up on your offer."

***

It was all settled. I was in a small room lying on a small bed. Jack had taken care of the necessary arrangements, and I now had a permanent place to stay, a home.

I heard a knock on my door. "Come in."

Jack opened the door and walked into the room. "I just wanted to see how you were settling in."

"I'm settling in great. I don't know how to thank you for all this."

"You just did." He sat himself down on the lone chair in the room. "You know, I was listening to you sing earlier. You were amazing. I thought I had died, and you were an angel singing me to heaven."

I smiled at him suspiciously. "You lie."

He gave me a devilish grin. "On occasion, but I'm not lying now."

I couldn't help but laugh. "That's very honest of you."

"How strange to be thought honest for admitting that you lie."

I rolled my eyes in amusement. "You're strange."

"I should hope so," he smirked. "Where in Russia are you from, anyhow?"

"St. Petersburg."

"I've been there."

My face lit up with the joy of knowing we had both shared St. Petersburg beauty.

"You miss it don't you?"

I sighed longingly. "Very much. Sometimes if I imagine hard enough I can almost see the St. Petersburg Cathedral, but I think what I miss most of all is the snow."

"It's snows in London. Heck, it's snowing right now."

"You know as well as I do that the snow in Russia is not the same as the snow in England."

He nodded in understanding.

"Have you ever listened to the snow?" I asked.

He looked at me in surprise. "I wasn't aware snow made a noise."

"It does. It's like a whisper, and what it whispers to you in Russia isn't the same as what it whispers to you here."

I knew I might have sounded a bit crazy, but somehow I knew Jack understood, and it wasn't just because we had both been to St. Petersburg. It was because I viewed things not as I saw them but as I felt them, and I could tell that he perceived things in the same way.

Jack was quiet for a moment, letting my words fully permeate like a flower soaking up water. "You'll see it again. I promise you that. Anyway," he stood up. "I think I've bored you long enough." He left the room before I could even say goodbye.

Later that night as I lay in my bed as comfortably as a bear getting ready to hibernate for the winter, another knock came to my door.

"Are you still up?" It was Jack's voice.

"Yes. Come in."

He walked in holding a piece of paper. "I got something for you."

I perked up like a dog that had spotted a cat. "For me?'

He nodded and tossed the paper on my bed. I picked it up and my mouth opened in shock. It was a beautifully magnificent drawing of St. Petersburg, the cathedral's swirling frosting-like domes peeked out of the skyline. It was even snowing in the picture, a powdery blanket of flakes covered the ground and little flurries flew all about. I felt transported like I was really there. It seemed to sparkle before my eyes, although this was impossible since it was done in charcoals. It wasn't just a drawing of St. Petersburg. It was St. Petersburg.

"Jack," I said, finding it difficult to not cry. "This is wonderful. You've captured it perfectly." I couldn't even look at him as I said it. My eyes were too fixated on his drawing.

"I tried. I told you you'd see St. Petersburg again."

"Yes, you did." I managed to tear my eyes from the picture. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm glad you like it."

I placed his work of art beside me and ran my fingers along it as lightly as drawing a line in the snow. "So, you're an artist."

He shrugged. "I try."

"I hope you're starving."

The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "Constantly."

I grinned. 'How can one person be so thoughtful?' I wondered.

"Anyway, I just came here to give you that. I really need to get some sleep. It's about ten minutes till midnight." He made his way toward the door. "Goodnight, Kristana," he said before closing it.

"Goodnight," I whispered.

I knew I should try to get some rest myself, but I didn't want to sleep for fear that I would wake up from the dream that this moment of reality had become. I carefully folded the drawing and placed it under my pillow. I lay down unable to close my eyes. All they could see was St. Petersburg right before them.

But like a slow working poison, sleep eventually takes over the body, and right before I succumbed to it, the vision of Russia was replaced with Jack, and I realized something. This realization made me decide that no matter what happened, I would keep his drawing with me always.

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	2. Destiny

**Chapter Two: Destiny**

_The rainbow's heart, the mountain's stream; the summer's clouds and the winter's dreams_

***

I woke up the next morning feeling disoriented. Had last night really happened? I wiped my sleepy eyes and looked around me. I was definitely in a room and lying on a bed. Last night had undeniably occurred. I reached under my pillow and grabbed the drawing. I unfolded it and quickly looked at it before stashing it in my pocket. I wondered if Jack was up yet.

I noticed an oval shaped mirror was hanging on the wall, so I got up to survey myself. I blinked in surprise. It had been a while since I had seen myself in a mirror. I would sometimes catch glimpses of myself in store windows, but this was different. This was full on. I felt almost naked. I noticed I had a mark on my left cheek from where the man had struck me, but that was not what caused my surprise. It was me, my face as a whole. I still had the same feline eyes, but I had to admit I wasn't hideous. My dark hair made a pretty contrast to my light eyes, like two fireflies flickering in the dark. And while I was definitely unconventional looking, perhaps to some people, I could be thought attractive. I was at the very least decent looking.

I repinned and smoothed my hair. I stared contemplatively at my mirror image, thinking of ways to improve what I saw. 'If only I had blond hair, blue normal-looking eyes, and rosy cheeks,' I thought longingly. I pinched my cheeks in the hopes of bringing some color to them, but I accidentally pinched the cut. I winced in pain and immediately began to feel ashamed of myself for having been so vain. I even mussed my hair a bit as a small form of punishment for caring so much about my appearance. Maybe it had been best that I hadn't had many opportunities to look in a mirror. I turned from my reflection and left the room almost as though I was running away from that stupid, taunting mirror.

As I made my way downstairs, I could smell the stimulating scent of coffee. I made my way to the dining room and saw that coffee was indeed sitting on the table along with a small breakfast of toast and eggs. Jack sat at the table, sipping a cup of the warm, brown concoction as he read a newspaper.

"Good morning Sleeping Beauty," he cheerily greeted.

I smiled. I knew he was teasing, but it was still nice to be called a beauty even in a joking way. "Oh no,' I said with humor in my voice. "You're one of those morning people."

He let out a little laugh. "Oh no. I guess I am." He used his foot to push out the chair across from him. "Here. Sit down and have some breakfast. That should wake you up."

I did as he ordered. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until I took a bite of toast smothered in jam. It tasted like piece of heaven. I could have eaten the entire table. After I finished my meal, I quietly sipped some coffee.

A plump, cheery looking woman with brown hair that was streaked with gray walked into the room. She smiled when she saw me. "Oh, hello. You must be the new tenant. I'm Elizabeth, but everyone calls me Liz."

I immediately liked her. She seemed like one of those permanently happy people who wanted to make everyone around her happy as well. "Nice to meet you, Liz. I'm Kristana."

"Goodness, what an interesting name. It's Russian, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is."

"Thought so." She turned to Jack and placed her hands on her hips. "Now, young man, how dare you go and marry this Kristana, not even tell me, bring her here, and then sit there like nothing in the world is different."

I felt my face grow as warm as my cup of coffee. I stole a glance at Jack, but he looked amused. "Liz, you're so presumptuous. Kristana is just a friend that I'm helping out. Don't worry. When I get married, I'll make sure to tell you."

She let out a "hmmph", but I could tell she wasn't really upset. She looked at me with wide, kind eyes. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, sweetie, but don't worry. I can tell just by looking at you that you're far too good for him anyway. Now, are you two done eating because I need to clear these dishes." She began picking up the dishes without even waiting for an answer.

"Hey, I wasn't finished," Jack said.

"Oh, hush. Yes you are. I don't want you getting fat on me." She left the room, carrying an armful of plates and cutlery.

Jack leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows at me amusingly. "Liz runs this boarding house. She's a funny gal, isn't she?"

I nodded. I was a little flummoxed by his use of the word gal. It wasn't really a British term, and it definitely wasn't Russian. I figured it must have been some American idiom. "You know, I've never met an American before," I stated.

"Really?" He leaned forward. His handsome face was closer to mine. If I reached my hand out, I could have touched his cheek. I looked down, embarrassed, as if I had just spoken my thoughts out loud.

"What do you think of us so far?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes at him in mock criticism. "I haven't decided yet."

He grinned then leaned back again. I felt disappointed and relieved at the same time. His closeness had me feel self-conscious.

He started staring at me as if he had just noticed something about me for the first time. My nervousness came back as he leaned towards me again, and then he did to me what I had imagined doing to him. He placed his hand on my cheek, his eyes shrouded with compassion. His touch was like a spark, sending shock waves through my skin like a key dangling at the end of a kite during a lightning storm. I let out a small, involuntary gasp. I hadn't meant to and felt foolish for having done so, but he didn't seem to have noticed.

"Hey, that's a nasty cut. Is it from last night?" He removed his hand, and I started breathing again. I hadn't even realized I had stopped.

"Da," I whispered in Russian without meaning to. "I mean, yes."

"Well, it doesn't look like it will leave a permanent mark. At any rate, I should tell you that although this is a boarding house, there really aren't that many people boarding here. It's just me, Liz, and this one guy named Colin…and now you."

"Where's Colin now?"

"He gets up at the crack of dawn to go work, factory work to be more specific. Colin pretty much keeps to himself. No, literally. He often talks to himself."

I laughed. "Seriously?"

"Unfortunately, yes, but don't worry. He's harmless. He's lost his whole family—his wife and two kids—so I think he talks to himself in lieu of talking to them."

"That's terrible."

"Yeah, the pain of loss can be pretty hard."

I felt sorry for him. His voice had held so much grief. "You sound like you're speaking from experience.'

He shrugged. "I am. My dad died before I could even really remember him, and my mom died when I was sixteen. It's been six years since she left but sometimes it feels like it happened just the other day." He sighed then looked at me. "I suppose you know what I'm talking about as well.'

Something in me clammed up. I felt like a tightly closed lid. I didn't like to think about my parents' death let alone talk about it. "I suppose."

I stood up, but I felt somewhat foolish because I really had nowhere to go. Jack stared at me, worry written all over his face. "Going somewhere?"

I walked to the front door, hesitated, then turned back around. I felt like a spinning top, in motion but with no real destination. "Yes." I hesitated. "I mean, no…I mean, I don't know."

Jack looked at the table as if he were afraid to see my reaction. "You know, some people find it helps to talk about it."

I swerved around. "There's nothing to talk about. They got sick and died. Nothing spectacular happened. They weren't murdered. They didn't save someone from a runaway train. They just got sick and then they left…forever."

Jack just nodded like he agreed with me, but I could tell he was yearning to say more. It was obvious he was worried about me, and I didn't like to feel vulnerable. Exposing my weaknesses made me feel like a mouse in a world full of ravenous cats.

"I've already had a good cry about it," I reassured him. "Then, I decided not to shed any more tears over the matter ever again. There's no point in wallowing in misery."

My supposed reassuring words had only made him look even more concerned. "You've only cried about the death of your parents once?"

"Yes. Like I said, feeling sorry for yourself gets you nowhere. I had to survive, and crying all day long is not the way to go."

Jack stood up slowly. "Perhaps, but there's nothing wrong with having a good cry now and then."

"I know that." My voice came out shriller than I intended it to.

Jack crept a little closer, slowly, as though I was a horse he didn't want to spook. "Kristana, you can cry."

"I know that. I just said I know that."

He kept moving towards me. "You can cry," he repeated.

I felt myself growing defensive. "Why do you keep saying that?" He was face to face with me now.

"Kristana…" His voice was barely a whisper. "You can cry."

I shook my head, not at him but at myself, as though I was trying to tell my eyes not to do what I could feel was coming. I cried. I cried like I had never cried before. The tears kept streaming and the sobs kept coming, and I realized that I had never fully gotten over my parents' deaths. That I had merely been bottling up a torrent of emotions, and now the bottle was too full. It had finally cracked under the pressure, allowing many years of tears to come spilling forth. Jack put his arms around me, and I sobbed on his shoulder like rain hitting the pavement.

"It's okay," Jack murmured. "Ne volnooysya. Ti ne odna."

I lifted my head from his shoulder and drew back a little. "You can speak Russian?" It felt so nice to hear the words. They wrapped around me like a warm embrace. How had he known his comforting words would be so much more reassuring in my native language?

"Yes, I speak a little. Remember, I've been to St. Petersburg. I had to know a bit to get by."

"Right. Well…thanks for letting me know I'm not alone."

Jack released his arms from around me, and the lack of his embrace made me feel like a flower missing its petals. I knew I shouldn't be so drawn to someone I barely knew, but I couldn't help it. To try and not feel something for him would be like trying to stop my heart from beating. I silently cursed myself for harboring such affections, especially since I could tell Jack did not feel the same. He only saw me as a friend, and if friendship was all he would offer then I would take what I could get with alacrity.

"Sure, no problem."

I sat back down. I started fiddling with my hands. I had never cried like that in front of someone, and I couldn't think of what to say. Words seemed as useless as a pile of dried up leaves. We were both quiet, Jack probably not wanting to say anything until I did.

"That song," I said quietly, "That Russian song that I sang yesterday, my mother used to sing that me. She sounded so beautiful when she did. My father always used to say I had gotten my voice from her. Now, every time I sing, it's in tribute to them."

I looked up to see Jack sitting across from me. I had been so lost in my thoughts; I hadn't even noticed he had moved.

He was practically a stranger yet he made me feel so safe. His presence was like a rainbow after a mighty tempest. I longed to have that luminous glow shine on me.

"I think your parents would like that very much," he replied.

I smiled reflectively. He was right. They would like that.

Jack stood up. "I should get going. I've got to try and make some money." He began making his way up the stairs to where his room

"And how are you going to do that? Are you going to make people cry on cue in exchange for a pound?"

"Very funny!" He called as he dashed up the stairs.

A minute later he came back down holding an easel and other various art supplies.

"You actually work as an artist? I just thought you did it as a hobby."

"Nope, it's more than a hobby. This is how I make the big bucks."

"So, are you going to paint outside?"

"Yeah, I set up shop so to speak at some busy corner and hope for the best. Although, drawing in London is pretty terrible. It rains constantly. It was much better in Paris. But oddly enough my art seems to sell better here than there. Not that that's saying much."

So, he and I were alike in that sense, both of us making a meager living doing what we loved the most. I really felt aligned to him somehow, and I remembered Jack's words from the other day. _"I have no idea, but I feel as though I would regret it forever if I didn't." _I had no idea why either, but I knew he was right. Some things were just meant to be. I believed in destiny. I didn't know where it would take me, and I believed I could help shape it, but I hoped whatever path it led me to, Jack would be right there next to me ready to tread it.

I opened the door for him since his hands were pretty full. "I'd wish you luck, but I don't believe in it."

"That's funny. Me neither," he replied as the door shut behind him.

I sat back down at the table and picked up Jack's newspaper. I absentmindedly scanned the articles. One headline caught my eye. It read: **_Work on the White Star's Titanic Proceeds Rapidly_****. I had heard about this a Titanic—a ship that fit its name about as perfectly as a nut in a shell. It was supposed to be the biggest ship ever made, and there was talk about it being unsinkable too. I could barely fathom such grandeur. I read a little more. **_The rise and progress of the leviathan liner now building is an absorbing topic of conversation at Belfast, where the rapid advance in her construction is visible to all. _The article provided a picture of the construction of the great ship. It already looked overwhelmingly huge.

I had only been on a ship once, on my way to England with my parents. It had been a meager vessel, not even half as large in scale as the Titanic was going to be. Such magnificence almost frightened me. It seemed tantamount to being faced with climbing a lofty mountain. As apprehensive as this soon to be built Titanic made me, I felt drawn to it somehow. I was a moth and the picture was the tantalizing flame. As I stared at it, I couldn't help but wonder if I could somehow get the chance to see it in its final form. And not just in the paper but in real life. I didn't know at the time that you don't have to say things out loud for destiny to hear.

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